March Carter; nye 2025 recap
It was New Years Eve and March Carter was drunk. To be fair, he was a lightweight and everyone knew it. And yet, they kept handing the boy drink after drink, encouraging his bad behavior. He was like a child–goofy smile, chattering a mile a minute, outgoing, and laughing. So much is laughter. He was quick to say I love you. Quick to say, has anyone told you you're more beautiful than the Shenandoah Valley?
His accent was thick with liquor. You could take the boy out of Virginia but you couldn't take Virginia out of the boy. He was hand-made with love out of Appalachian dirt–his eyes painted using Skyline drive as a reference.
He flitted around the community center like a hummingbird, taking a sip from each flower that was his friend. He was happy to have another year with them. Thankful, thankful, thankful. With a Polaroid camera in hand, he captured the fleeting moments. Captured Aggie’s smile. Took a selfie with Ruth. Stole a candid of Ash.
His heart was filled to the brim, bursting and spilling over. The bass of the music thrummed in his chest, his pulse keeping time with the beat. How lucky was he to be alive?
Oops, it was that time of night when vodka tasted like water.
March danced with Aggie and Ruth with zero inhibition–he was all elbows and loose limbs. Dancing was not one of his many talents. But he did it anyway, his hands signing along with the lyrics as he sang at the top of his lungs.
“I love you, Ags,” he signed, the motion was sloppy with intoxication, but full of passion, a great profession of adoration for his lifelong friend. He gave her his biggest, cheekiest smile, one he'd given her hundreds of times.
He professed his love for each one of his friends that night. Even to a few strangers. He pressed his lips to Ruth’s knuckles and spun her like the princess she was. She received a dimpled grin from the drunk boy and a terrible cover of Love Story by Taylor Swift. He belted the lyrics from the top of his lungs, unashamed that he was tone-deaf. The night was fun and bright and bubbly. Full of love.
He lit sparklers, the bright light flickering like the night sky. If Ash hadn't been there to steady the drunk man's hand, they would have all been in trouble. “I love you, Ash,” he murmured. His big blue eyes met Ash's, his expression unabashedly smitten.
As his night came to an end, March toddled through the crowd on the hunt of Ash. His person was supposed to be his ride and the bleary-eyed boy was ready for bed. The hallway was silent compared to the gymnasium. It was like someone had muted the TV, not even the sound of his soft footsteps were audible.
And then he heard the soft voices of two of his favorite people. Warmth bloomed in his stomach. He picked up the pace, drunk and desperate to be with them.
Finally he found them and, oh. They were kissing. March turned on his heels, nearly knocking himself off balance. He braced against the wall, the cement cool against his hot skin. Nausea ripped through him. The rumors were true and he wasn't sure which hurt more, that he'd missed his chance with the love of his life or that his two best friends hadn't told him.
He swallowed his tears and disappeared into the auditorium.
March didn't remember the car ride home. Instead, he found himself tucked into bed, Ash's gentle voice coaxing him to sleep. He didn't want to sleep. His lip jutted like a pouting child. He was still mad at Ash for not telling him about Aggie. He mumbled his disappointment incoherently.
Despite his initial protests, March was tired. When his head hit the pillow, sleep tugged at his eyelids. Ashton attempted to leave March for the guest room, but the drunk boy didn't let his friend leave. He wanted him to stay, sleep next to him and dream together. Screw the ‘there’s only one bed’ trope–there were plenty but they chose to share one anyway. March Carter was spoiled rotten.
And the morning came like it always did, with a sunrise like eyes slowly opening and the soft melody of songbirds nesting in March's backyard. March couldn't enjoy the morning like he wanted to because he was painfully hungover. A migraine sat at the back of his eyes, pounding as a second heart beat. His stomach tossed and turned as a punishment for his life choices. He groaned. And groaned again.
Rolling over, he was suddenly aware of the man sleeping next to him. One Ashton Ryder was shirtless in his bed. March sat up abruptly, the motion nearly causing him to vomit. What had he done last night? Millions of inappropriate images flashed through his mind, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. But they couldn't have done anything. Ash was with Aggie, right?
March opened his phone to check the time–to do anything to ground himself. 56 notifications. There had been an accident involving Aggie.
@aggierobshaw @ruthellerymd @defendingtheice
